


In Which Hanzo Shimada Hates Jesse McCree

by Vax (soulstice)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, alcohol use, takes place after the regrouping of overwatch, violence mention, will be nsfw in future chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 20:04:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10815771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulstice/pseuds/Vax
Summary: Hanzo Shimada and Jesse McCree are sent on a mission in the deserts of the States.When they grow bored of waiting on orders, they pass the time in each other's company.-----------Started as an RP between me and orinoxvaldan and we decided to turn it into a fic!Hanzo - written by Orinox @ fauxsamurai.tumblr.comMcCree - written by myself @ fauxcowpoke.tumblr.comHope you enjoy!





	In Which Hanzo Shimada Hates Jesse McCree

❝ Everything bad has… you know, has a good. ❞  

“Wisdom comes from unlikely sources. Like drawing water from a stone.” Hanzo’s tone was even as always, and he sat rather still with his bow resting against his chest, propped against the ledge he’d settled on, one slender leg dangling down from the spot. 

It was of course, only a barely veiled insult. Jesse Mccree wasn’t the first person he thought of when he sought out such things. These days, most of the wisdom that he ascertained was from hands on experience: Breakfast in Buenos Aires as the sun began to peek over mountains unlike the Minami Alps of his homeland. Afternoons in the blazing desert heat of the American West. Evening observing the lights of a city still locked in antiquity in southern Italy. 

But his pride was, as he had learned, better off the more it flowed and shifted like water. He looked at the other man, found himself warmed by the earnestly with which the statement was made and softly clicked his tongue as he tilted his head. 

“ _Doitsumo koitsumo,_ ” He muttered under his breath and then by way of translation, albeit a bit dishonest– “You’re all the same, you know.” 

McCree puffed on his usual spiced cigarillo, the smoke dancing around him in the summer breeze that no one else seemed to ever feel – though he always attributed it to the fact that few he knew were used to the heat of the south. With his back pressed against a wall and arms crossed over his chest, he watched the bowman sit on the ledge they had decided to perch from. 

A thick eyebrow lifted, taking note of his tone- or lack thereof. Though Hanzo rarely showed much emotion other than anger. His own lips cracked into a smile at the familiar Japanese phrase- suddenly thankful that Genji had taken to teaching him short phrases and slang in exchange for Spanish so he could creep on Gabe’s conversations.   
Broad shoulders shrugged as he pushed off the wall and closed the distance between them, spurs on his boots clinking with each step like a constant threat to those who dared to mess with him. 

It was a little off-putting looking at the man’s boots approach. He’d have rather been on more even ground, but also refused to give up his vantage point as he expertly checked over his bow’s drawstring. Hanzo’s expression tightened slightly—what one more trained in reading him might have noticed as embarrassment when he realized that Jesse knew exactly how insulting what he’d said had been. Of course: he’d spent time around Genji before Hanzo had even known about his survival– 

“We may be garbage, but we’re damn good at what we do, darlin’. Someone’s gotta do the dirty work and it sure as ‘ell ain’t gonna be the high and mighty Strike Commander or the prestigious Overwatch crew.” 

As bitter as he sounded, he was thankful for Blackwatch- for his second chance to clean up, to do some good, but still stay true to himself. He couldn’t leave his gun behind if he tried. 

The would-be-Samurai chuckled, a sound low in his chest that crackled with age, and he bowed his head just slightly as though by way of apology. 

“I see. I did not mean to insult your… family.” Hanzo was a closed-off man, but there were times when he was an open book, free for the reading. 

He was a passionate creature despite his stoic nature—when something struck him, It would often show through despite his rather restrained nature. He wasn’t ignorant to the fact by any means, but his pride would also often keep him from acknowledging his own flustered state. 

Hanzo’s words simply espoused his bitterness, though these days it was often kept tucked away behind the zen-inspired attitude that he carried around. He tilted his head up to give the other man a quick glance and then turned his eyes back to the skyline. 

McCree laughed and hooked a thumb in his belt as he regarded the other. Even after all the stories, after working side by side in missions that should have cost lives- Hanzo was as much of an enigma as ever. 

“Ain’t much of a family these days. Seems we’ve all ended up on our own paths after Overwatch was disbanded.” 

His chest heaved, a big breath before a sigh. He hadn’t belonged to anything since- a wandering mercenary for hire and constantly related as a criminal wherever he went. Some days he wonders if it would have been different had he not been forced to make a choice all those years ago. 

Those were only the thoughts after a few too many at the bar, however. 

“Family, still…” Hanzo trailed off. Who was he to be talking about family? 

Hanzo brought his bow down to lay across his lap, running over a menial checklist in his mind to make sure it was optimal—of course it was. It always was; but he needed something to do with his nimble fingers in the moment. 

“Ten years. I suppose we must try to find something in common other than liquor.” Hanzo intoned with a hint of a tease in his voice.   

McCree crouched down next to Hanzo and peered out to the horizon. He loved views like this and loved getting to see a different view every night. 

“I think we have more in common than ya give me credit for, Shimada. And you really should stop taking yourself so seriously. Life’s too short.” 

As if he were really one to talk. It wasn’t often McCree spoke of his own regrets but he knew they shared at least that much in common. Haunted by choices made in their youth, --something you can never take back. 

A swift hand pulled his six shooter from its holster before checking to see if it was loaded and lining up a shot at a sign down the road.   
“For one, we’re both an incredible shot.” 

Though Hanzo had initially thought Jesse McCree to be a man of low intelligence, he was beginning to have to acquiesce to the fact that that just wasn’t the case. Pride laid to rest, values shifted just so slightly in order to reassess the situation. How much had things changed, really-- he wondered. 

“Tell me. Why do you fight?” The question came as a low rumble that was barely audible above the wind. 

Another day, another job—one that he could believe in for the first time, at least that was what he told himself. 

“You seem to be a man who values the traditions of his people far more than others, who bow their heads and make way for the modern. Is it that? Or the money?” Or maybe that was a bit of obvious projection. Likely. Maybe Jesse just liked the old-world aesthetic.   

For Hanzo, how else was he to live? He was a man who knew nothing about living in the present; he had only ever bended for those in authority, allowed fear to beget false respect when he too, should have rebelled even at the cost of his honor. He knew that now, older. Wiser. Tired. – And a bit chilled by the arid night air. He sighed and shifted to slip his arm into his kosode, usually left shrugged off of his shoulder for ease of movement with his bow as he rubbed at his arms and turned to watch McCree for his answer.   

McCree blinked, puzzled by the sudden question. He hadn’t been asked such a thing in years- and his answer was infinitely different than it would have been back then.   
If you had asked him in his teens, when he first joined Deadlock, he would have said it was for entertainment- to have a purpose and be cool. To gain knowledge and skills and fame and fortune. What a rebellious kid he had really been. 

If you had asked him in the prime of Blackwatch, he would have said he fought to pay off his debts to Gabriel and the rest of Overwatch for allowing him a second chance. To prove to those who doubted not only his skill but his honesty and his drive to right his wrongs-- that the choice to allow him a new life had not been in vain. It was to fight for those who couldn’t- to do some good in a world full of bad, even if he would never see his name in the headlines for success-a stark contrast to his days in Deadlock. 

Nowadays, he was considered a criminal again- to some he never lost the title. He was a vigilante, dealing justice on his own terms. He was constantly dropping out of sight from the police, even as citizens praised him for his deeds. He didn’t need the praise anymore, though it was always nice, even if it was better that his name remain unheard. 

Shoulders shrugged as he took another puff, lost in thought about it too long. “Don’t know much else, I suppose. Don’t remember a day that my Peacekeeper wasn’t in my holster. Nowadays I just tend to play my cards as I see fit and answer calls when they come in.” 

Eyes lifted to the archer. “You’re right about traditions- though I don’t have many to go home to. Burned those bridges a long time ago and never had the courage to go back.”   
He cracked a smile as he looked out to the horizon. 

“A mother’s rage is far more terrifying than any near death experience I’ve ever faced.” 

“Hmm.” At that, Hanzo gave a wry smile and stopped his fidgeting at least a bit. 

It seemed that Hanzo was finally deeming this man worth his full attention. He shifted again, this time to sling his bow back over his back where it was out of the way, and pulled his knee up, huddling against the breeze. The daytime here was sweltering, but nights were frigid. He doubted that he’d ever get used to it. 

The archer tilted his head a bit, considering further what Jesse had said—it didn’t help that he had to filter it through the language barrier, and while Hanzo’s English was quite good he was no native speaker; not even the kind who grew up speaking two languages. He didn’t properly begin to be able to use English until his late teens at least. Jesse, he could assume likely grew up speaking both English and Spanish though those were things to think on at a later date. Not that it mattered to him, he told himself. 

“I wouldn’t know,” About a mother’s rage, he meant. 

Maybe that had been where it all went wrong, where everything had fallen apart though… his pride refused to allow him to think that he was somehow worse off than Jesse McCree. 

“I was meant to have a profound answer of my own, but ah… The truth is I do not. Aside from seeking…” He paused, searching for the appropriate word, again filtering language against language, “Atonement.” 

Though that was a thing that was after all terribly personal and he wasn’t entirely sure he could trust the wannabe cowboy with something so serious or intense. Hanzo was a sharp, bristling thing even at his best—and it was his nature to wear a mask in the face of uncertainty. 

“Aren’t we all, darlin’?” 

He shot the other a smile before leaning back against a wall, legs crossed and head tilted down with his hat in his eyes. He couldn’t imagine anyone from Overwatch who didn’t have something they were seeking redemption or atonement for. Even those who seemed to have fallen to a darker path, or at least he hoped they still had some humanity left in them. He had to. 

“He don’t hate you, ya know.” 

He’d been close to Genji for years. He listened to Genji ramble about his faceless brother day in and day out- the good, the bad, and the ugly. He’d watched Genji’s rampages, his break downs, and finally, when he came to peace with it all. They talked about it all over shots in the dead of night and Genji would tell him stories about their childhood together before it all went down. 

That was why McCree never believed the stern look that Hanzo always had on his face. 

“I don’t think he ever did. More just… disappointed and hurt.” 

The hypocrisy wasn’t lost on him. He knew that the same could likely be said of his own family, but he continued to tell himself it was different- or that somehow, his family had moved on and it would only mess things up if he re-entered their lives now. 

Hanzo’s first reaction to being told how his brother felt– no matter how subtly was anger. It bubbled up in his chest and left a bitter taste in his mouth, though he did not show it. It took a few good moments of silence to banish it entirely. There was a spike of envy—that McCree was able to know such things in ways that he hadn’t had the chance to. Though… he was to blame, wasn’t he? 

That was what always made the anger fizzle out—that it was really all aimed inward. 

McCree adjusted, moving a bit closer to Hanzo and bumped his shoulder with his own with a light chuckle. “Lighten up, sweetheart. Didn’t mean t’bring the mood down.” 

Hanzo sighed heavily and raised a hand to push his hair back from his face where it had fallen from his ponytail. 

“Mood? No, this is fine. It’s better than small talk.” Hanzo continued slowly. 

It was strange. Now that he was really thinking about it, it felt like the gunman knew him from a distance somehow—the way you feel you know someone who you hear stories about often enough but never meet. What a strange place the world could be. 

“I have seen many things. Come to know that the world is much… bigger than our _own_ worlds.” He offered a small smile then, as he looked beside him, grumbling softly at the nudge. 

“But it’s hard to see anything but them, isn’t it?” He was getting old; these wistful thoughts seemed to be the closest thing to proper socialization that he could manage. Perhaps the years of wandering, years of plenty of socialization but no attachments had done more harm than good. He wasn’t sure.   

With a weighted sigh, McCree pulled his hat from his head, ruffling his own hair before tucking it back into place. He leaned back onto a hand and gazed down to the city below. He was bored and restless with no idea of when this mission was going to get underway. 

“People are generally pretty narrow minded. Expecting anyone to see anything a different way is to expect disappointment. Though it isn’t unheard of. Even the most stubborn of minds come around sometimes.” 

It was a light jab at Hanzo as well as himself, knowing he left his old life behind in order to turn over a new leaf, just as he had. But he had also seen men strong in their resolve go the opposite way, losing all their sense of morality and justice- even men who he had considered family. 

“Let me worry about Genji, _darling._ ” Hanzo concluded with a tease of his own though– it likely didn’t come across the same in his heavily accented voice. It was his own burden to bear; his own puzzle to sort out though—McCree surely meant well. He seemed to, at least. Hanzo ignored the cutesy pet-names, though they did make him wonder. Was he making fun, or trying to soften his exterior? It was hard to tell. 

McCree blinked dumbly when Hanzo shot back his habit of calling everyone darling. Hearing t directed at himself, and in such an accent and with such a playful intent, he swore his heart stopped for a moment. He cleared his throat and held his hands in his lap, trying to ease his racing heart. 

“What’dya say we kill some time at the bar? I’m tired of sittin’ up here doin’ nothin’.” 

“Even though we’re on call.” It was not a question, just an observation laced with obvious amusement. 

“We’ll have our communicators on- ain’t like we’re running off that far. I’ve done it a million times.” He smirked and shot him a finger gun motion. “Trust me- ain’t nothin’ to it.”   
It was a bit annoying. Just waiting—the call might never come in at all, if the parameters didn’t line up exactly. They had to be careful, as things were. Still, reputations stood on a dangerous precipice. Failures were not going to be looked upon kindly at this stage of their re-activation. Hanzo’s own motivations lie mostly in that desire for atonement; to use the skills he had honed in his younger years in order to protect peace. 

But… Jesse did seem awful restless, and it would get him out of the damned chill of the southwestern night. That was something he could appreciate—and next time, he’d remember his heavier jacket. 

He got to his feet with a soft grunt, a bit stiff from having been in one position for so long. Hanzo had not studied the same disciplines that his brother had, but he did indeed understand the teachings that his own peace were rooted in. There must be balance; a time for both introspection and extroversion. A time for sitting and waiting, dutiful—and for cutting loose. 

McCree watched Hanzo rise to his feet, and took his hand when offered, lifting himself up with a grunt of his own. They definitely weren’t their youthful selves anymore, but if Reinhardt and Ana were still kicking ass at their age, McCree was determined to hold his own. 

The fallen Shimada heir brushed himself off—tucked his kosode a little tighter into his hakama and tried to hide his shivering. Hardly becoming when he’d been doing his best to keep that aloof air of mystery. At this rate, he might end up with a cold. Talk about undignified. 

McCree was right. It wasn’t as if they were being entirely irresponsible. And maybe they could pick up some intel if they kept their ears open enough. That seemed enough to suit him on its own, at least. Hanzo did his very best not to think about how Jesse McCree’s hand felt in his; warm, calloused. Strong in every possible meaning of the word. He did though, and despite himself the details were filed away. 

“I trust you,” Oh a difficult, tremulous thing to be said on the lips of a Japanese man. And then, under his breath: “ _Toranu tanuki no kawa zanyou._ ” 

Though—that was a bit of an old proverb, he considered it sufficient warning. They did seem to have things in hand, but considering it already cut and dry could be dangerous. That felt like enough of a warning, and he was going to go on to say more, but—there was Jesse standing directly in front of him, the heavy woven fabric that so often adorned him in his hands.   

“Is there sake?” He finally asked, though the question was a bit coy—as though he wasn’t exactly expecting much. He then held out his hand and offered to help McCree to his feet, indicating that he would accompany him regardless.   

McCree also dusted himself off, swinging his serape over his shoulder as he glanced over to Hanzo, adjusting his own attire. A brow lifted in curiosity, wondering if the archer was cold. In a swift motion, he removed his hat and slung off his serape before placing his hat back on and stepped over to Hanzo. He squared off in front of him before throwing the serape over his head and adjusting it to fit properly. Once he was satisfied, he stepped back and smirked. 

“No one expects the desert to be chilly at night.” 

He started heading off towards the staircase that would lead them to ground level. 

“And about the sake, well… guess we’ll just have to find out, won’t we?” 

He was the one left blinking dumbly as it was draped over his shoulders, the other man’s warmth still clinging to it and soothing his chill-tweaked nerves. Hanzo was sure that he was red in the face straight up to his ears, and though he was terribly embarrassed, he didn’t hesitate in shifting his bow so it didn’t hinder the fabric and burrowing into it—wrapping it around himself as much as he could for warmth. 

“My thanks, McCree-san.” His fumbling left him even more embarrassed, unable to shake how ridiculous the honorific sounded outside of a sentence in his own language. Finally, as he followed after the taller man for the stairs he managed: “May I just call you Jesse?” 

–He was definitely going to need that sake now. 

McCree snorted at the honorific- remembering fondly the first time it had been explained to him what the whole concept meant when Genji had called him something similar all those years ago. Even Hanzo seemed to notice just how weird it sounded and he was glad that Hanzo asked. 

“Please do. Never been much for titles of rank ‘r anything.” 

He pulled out the brick he had used to keep the door propped open and tossed it aside. He stepped out of the way, allowing Hanzo to be the first through the doorway and following close behind, making sure the door was shut tight and locked before descending the stairs. 

He felt a bit strange without his serape, the weight gone from his shoulders and his prosthetic left in plain sight. He’d gotten used to it ages ago, but that didn’t mean he liked looking at it all the time. As they passed through the front entrance, he tipped his hat t the receptionist and thanked her for the hospitality before leaving out the front entrance and into the street of the desert town. 

He peered out into the street, having to get used to his surroundings on ground level. Once he located the bar, he gave Hanzo a firm slap on the back with his prosthetic arm before heading down the street. “-This way, darlin’.” 

The walk was brisk enough, and Hanzo kept to his more recent habits; keeping his head low, not making much eye contact, though he smiled when Jesse addressed the lady and then quickly returned his attention to the path ahead. He preferred to not get wrapped up in anything—though he wasn’t a recognizable face like some of the others in their ranks.   

The night air was biting, even wrapped up in McCree's—what was it, a cloak? Something like that.  The weight of his prosthetic was a little jarring– so much so that Hanzo nearly stumbled at the sudden impact, but managed to at least keep from spluttering without too much bluster. 

The walk to the bar was relatively short, but McCree was glad to be inside the western style saloon and out of the chill of the night. McCree grabbed them a couple seats at the bar, the bartender immediately getting chummy with him because, well, southern men knew southern men. He ordered a glass of tequila for himself and sake for Hanzo. 

“Guess sake is gettin’ more popular around here. Ya got lucky, Hanz.” 

Hanzo was more than a little relieved to find them in more welcoming atmosphere, the familiar sounds of people moving around and talking, laughing setting his nerves at ease. He’d come to like this; existing on the edge of society rather than being a part of it. It was quite contrary to the way that people in his home country were raised. To be exiled from community was perhaps one of the worst fates that the average person could imagine. He remembered being so frustrated with Genji’s rebellious nature—how could he find any joy in that when it only meant exclusion and solitude? 

Perhaps it was ironic that he now chose that path for himself. Always near; always flowing alongside the river of life rather than being part of it. 

He raised his brow at the familiarity that Jesse and this man showed each other, knowing it was likely a cultural thing—and then found himself fretting over the state this sake would be in. Did they even know how to serve it properly? Would he be left drinking it room temperature or cold like some lonely man trying to drown his sorrows– 

But he was pleasantly surprised when a proper little ceramic carafe and glass was placed before him, nicely warmed. So much so—that Hanzo let out a happy little sigh and poured himself a shot without hesitation. He’d long ago given up on the old social trappings of never pouring a drink for oneself. It was hard to keep up when one was usually just that—alone. 

“Hanz…?” Was that a nickname? He supposed if he was allowed to be familiar, than McCree was as well. It wasn’t as though they were complete strangers, though he’d always thought it was just what one would think of as a professional relationship. It was, right? He had to stop looking so closely for his own sanity. 

McCree settled on his bar stool, pulling his hat off his head and setting it aside just as the bartender came with their drinks. He lifted the glass of tequila, wafting it under his nose before taking his first drink. It burned the back of his throat just the way he liked, a hum as he set it down, simply enjoying the taste. He glanced over to Hanzo who seemed utterly at peace with the world as he poured his sake. 

He had never tried the drink before meeting him- not even Genji drank it often. The thought of warm liquor had him nervous, but it actually ended up being pretty good- though he always went back to his tequila and whiskey at the end of the day. But it always seemed to put Hanzo at ease, so he was glad whenever they were able to find it when out on missions, even if it meant paying extra for it to be properly made. 

“You seem so familiar with everyone. I suppose you are what they call a “real charmer,” no?” 

“Hm?” 

McCree was drawn out of his thoughts by Hanzo’s questions, and could only laugh at the comment. 

“I’ve been called many things in my day- a charmer being a common one. Others might consider it misleading or downright untrustworthy– though it isn’t my intention….” A small pause and a smile. “Usually. It got me a lot of what I wanted when I was younger, but it also got me in a lot o’ trouble.” 

He downed the rest of his glass before motioning over to the bartender for a refill. He didn’t usually mind reminiscing of his days in Deadlock- some of the memories were quite fond- though others still kept him up at night. Being back in the desert, even if it wasn’t his original headquarters, kept the hair standing on the back of his neck- though looking at him, most could never tell. His air of confidence and nonchalance always counteracted any inner turmoil he may be experiencing. 

“I don’t try to use it like ‘at anymore if I can help it. Though you’d be surprised what you can get with a good smile and a compliment.” 

Hanzo wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that, really—it was a lot to absorb and English subtleties were rather different than the ones he was used to in his native tongue. He let the warm rice liquor soothe his thoughts as he tried to sort it out. Eventually, he arrived at the observation: “Those are… valuable qualities. Many people prize them highly.” 

The art of manipulation was something that anyone who had to oversee people likely longed for to some extent. He had been the same at one point, honestly though Hanzo had… never been very good at it. He had the voice of authority in spades; had grown into that, but the smooth, charming thing? Never his gig. At all. 

Thinking about it, Hanzo laughed warmly and smiled at McCree as he rested his chin in his hand, scratching at his beard absently. 

“Well, that is how it is for most of us. There are too many shadows behind us and so we look ahead.” It was easy to say to someone else, but Hanzo really didn’t know what was forward. 

Well, he was concerned with looking out for Genji from his shadows. That was all he would allow himself now that he knew the truth. Unlike Hanzo, Genji had a life; a master, friends and comrades while Hanzo himself had lived a life of isolation. He had chosen the very thing that most Japanese people feared more than anything; that he had gone against Genji with murderous intent in a desperate attempt to somehow spare both of their honor—only to see how little honor really mattered; how flawed that belief system was.

….Best not to dwell on it in the presence of company. 

McCree shook his head and chuckled at Hanzo’s response. That was what they had told him upon recruiting him- his silver tongue on top of his pinpoint accuracy with his Peacemaker were big reasons they thought to give him the ultimatum. They needed someone with his skill on Blackwatch, despite his record- or his age. Not wanting to rot in maximum security prison for the rest of his life, he had begrudgingly agreed- though now he was glad he did. One of the few things he did right in his life. 

“I try not to look ahead to much. Lose sight of the here and now. To me, that’s what really matters. No goals, no aspirations. Just whatever feels good ‘n’ right at the moment.” 

Eyes glance over to Hanzo as his second drink was passed to him. His eyes didn’t move from Hanzo’s as he grabbed his drink and sipped it down- an almost electric connection between their gazes- borderline challenging. 

“It would be hypocritical of me to tell you to not regret any o‘ that. But remember where those actions got’ya. What they made ya into.” 

His gaze fell, but his small smile remained. He was no longer sure if the talk was for Hanzo or for himself, but he hoped that something was at least helping the other man. “For what its worth, Hanz, I think you’re pretty great. Definitely not the monster from all those stories.” 

Feeling properly warmed up now thanks to the drink and to the atmosphere, Hanzo sheepishly disentangled himself from the warm fabric that Jesse had offered to him before and slid from the stool to his feet to rather awkwardly offer it back. 

“Thank you again, Jesse. I’ll have to get used to this dry climate eventually,” He said good naturedly. 

When Hanzo moved to stand, his serape being pulled from his form, his eyes widened softly, wondering what he was up to. When it was placed before him, he blinked, confused, at least until Hanzo explained. He shook his head and gave the pile of fabric a firm pat. The poor thing was worn and tattered, the colors less vibrant than they were when he first got it, but it was incredibly important to him. 

“Don’t worry about it, darlin’. You can keep it for now if ya’d like. I won’t need it- tequila already got me all fired up, anyway.” He shot the other a wink before sliding it back over to him across the bar table. “‘Sides I’m well used to this kinda weather- you should keep warm. Can’t believe no one thought to tell you to bring something warmer.” 

Despite his rough edges, Jesse McCree’s kindness and magnetism was undeniable. For Hanzo, it left him feeling disconnected; as though he was floating in a dream. Even on these missions that he’d agreed to—for the sake of the future, for the sake of everyone—he’d not expected so much kindness. Some were not kind, and others were kind in the same way that anyone might be with a coworker but… this felt different. 

He was unable to properly express his gratitude, and so he simply hugged the folded serape to his chest for a few long moments, blinking slowly at his companion before finishing off the little carafe of sake in a few gulps from the small glass that accompanied it. 

Hanzo did not often allow himself to like anyone. It was part of why he travelled; a self-imposed obligatory constant of the Buddhist monk’s ideal detachment. Maybe. Or maybe he was just running away. 

The thought settled heavily with him, and he smiled—the redness in his face hopefully easily explained by the liquor now in his system. “You are too kind.” 

Normally that would be a simple turn of phrase, but it was clear that Hanzo meant it. He slowly wriggled his way back into the serape even though he didn’t need it—he just liked it; liked the idea that someone liked him well enough to offer him such a kindness. Weakness, his mind screamed at him. Everything in his head warned him against this. Against getting to friendly. He’d already all but forgotten that they were on call for a mission though, on-call shifts could go completely uneventful just as often. It had been years since he had relaxed in quite the same manner with someone, and hardly ever in public. Definitely not a place playing loud western music and full of the laughter and noise of people. 

“And you are… not at all like you seem at first glance. You are a much more pleasant man than your ah… rough exterior suggests.” He hoped the words got it across without being offensive, and gave McCree a big, puppy-dog stare just to be sure that he knew he wasn’t being mocking. 

McCree was definitely less cold and cynical than he was some ten or so years ago. When he first joined Blackwatch, he thought the world cruel and hopeless. But seeing the heroics and having his own life saved, his true personality began to shine through and he quickly became the warm, charming man he was now. Though some of his cynicisms remained- hard to keep them out of a man whose job was to kill for coin. 

“Gotta keep up appearances somehow. Though, I typically get one of two things- taken too seriously or not seriously enough. S’ I’m used t’ it, more or less.” 

Metal fingers tapped on the wood, signaling refills, both for himself and for Hanzo. Perhaps it was dangerous to keep them coming, what with being on call and all The communicator could signal their targets arrival, then they’d have to scramble back to their positions before it was too late. And it would likely prove difficult with too many drinks in their system. 

But McCree found it more and more difficult to want to move from that spot the more he watched Hanzo turn a mild shade of pink and smile in such a softness he hadn’t previously thought the man capable. He didn’t want him to stop smiling. Perhaps it was a selfish thought, seeing as it made his heart warm, and he didn’t want that to stop either.

Seeing the way Hanzo, the usually uptight, stern archer clung to his serape… it was truly a sight to behold. 

_Damnit, Jesse, get a hold of y’rself. It ain’t like that. The man’s just cold._

Don’t get attached. This is not a business of attachments. He knew that all too well. He nearly shivered at the thought of his passed coworkers, his leaders who were now on their radar in an elusive manhunt. 

He shook his head and thanked the bartender for his next drink before downing it in a single gulp. He slammed the glass down, threatening to shatter it with the force and looked to Hanzo with a new determination in his eyes. 

Hanzo might have thought twice about another drink if it wasn’t offered so immediately to him. It was common for men his age to drink into the night and still be expected to function—at least that was how it was back home. But this… was not that. It was clear the moment Jesse slammed his glass down and turned to him. 

“Do you dance?” 

Hanzo’s brow rose until it vanished beneath his bangs (having fallen from his ponytail as they often did). Dance? Dancing was… not a thing that had ever been popular in Japan, save for in the act of performance. He’d seen many people dance in many places in many cities throughout the world but it wasn’t something he’d ever had any reason to become any good at. He had arbitrarily taken a couple of classes at his father’s behest but they had hardly stuck. 

He did know though, that his heart lept at the idea of Jesse McCree asking him—and that was something terrifying and odd. He had half of a mind to depart immediately and he shifted under the weight of his bow and quiver. Was he really going to let his guard down this much? 

Without a word, he unfastened the strap that held his arrows in place and laid them on the bar, his bow came next in its collapsed state—much smaller than it usually looked when it was ready for action. If he didn’t keep moving, Hanzo was sure that the way his hands were trembling would be obvious. 

“Not really.” He said simply, even though he was quite obviously getting to his feet to do just that. Who was going to judge? This wasn’t Japan, and there were plenty of drunks making fools of themselves on the dance floor even as they spoke. Why couldn’t he? 

“I suppose I could… follow your lead? I’m rusty. Be gentle.” 

Jesse McCree was a man who smiled often. These days, he rarely didn’t have at least half a smirk plastered on his face in sheer confidence and a smug attitude to boot. Jesse McCree was also a man who got excited easily- often compared to a very large, scruffy puppy. However, when a certain Hanzo Shimada agreed to dance with one Jesse McCree, the smile he gave was brighter than the sun itself. 

He held up a lone finger and rummaged in his back pocket, pulling out a worn down leather wallet and pulling out a crisp bill. He motioned for the bartender to head over and slipped it over the counter to him. “Watch our stuff for us, if’n ya don’t mind, partner.” He motioned over to Hanzo’s equipment and the man nodded, pocketing the money. “Thank ya kindly.” 

If anything were to happen, his trusty Peacemaker was still strapped to his hip, and he was certain that both Hanzo and he could take down a mob with their fists if it really came down to it. But, he wasn’t all too concerned about it as he stuck out an elbow to Hanzo, offering him a place to wrap his own around him as he led him into the heart of the dance floor. 

Once they arrived, he squared off to Hanzo, that big, goofy grin still on his lips. Three glasses of tequila for even a man of his tolerance and weight did some damage. Large hands planted themselves on Hanzo’s shoulders, looking him dead in the eye. 

“One o’ these days I’ll teach ya how to square dance proper, but for now, we’ll keep it nice ‘n’ simple.” 

McCree guided Hanzo’s hands, one on his shoulder, and the other grasped in his own. He gave him the basic run down of a simple two step, how to position their feet so it was less likely to step on toes. 

“Just a step- quick shuffle with the same foot- step with the other, then repeat. Follow my lead and ya cain’t go wrong, I swear. I swear on….” His eyes drifted down to his serape, still around Hanzo’s shoulders and smirked. “I swear on ‘is that if ya mess up cause o’ my mislead, I’ll letcha keep it. Deal? Ya ready, darlin’?” 

There was no need for such an agreement, really. Hanzo knew he wasn’t the most rhythmically inclined but—he could easily look around and see that few were. He was torn in two directions by his Japanese sensibilities; dancing was considered almost risque and definitely something only to be done in a formal setting or at home, in private—but here it was perfectly normal and acceptable; so much so that maybe it would be seen as terribly ‘uncool’ and as if he was trying to go against the grain to refuse—what a catch twenty-two. 

It was perhaps, why he found himself so determined to at least hold his own and—at first he was almost shocked when Jesse’s hands found his shoulders; as if he had forgotten that contact in dancing was a thing—and his mind was screaming to remind him: cultural differences!!!! But that was enough to calm his mind, along with the buzz from the sake (McCree seemed worse off on that front). 

Hanzo’s hand was brittle and tense at first until he let his fingertips press into Jesse’s side, and the warmth of his movement through his clothes had him flushed—as though he wasn’t already red enough in the face. There was a moment of pause as he considered what had been said, and simply nodded—he was a _grown man_ , feeling like this; the fluttering in his chest was just well, unacceptable. He did his best to quash it down and search for something to say, but his mouth was too dry, and his heart racing so quickly that he was sure anything he did say would come out in the wrong language anyway. 

His self control already in shambles, it didn’t take more than a few moments for him to slide his hand from Jesse’s side to the small of his back, pressing him a little closer. Really, he knew he wouldn’t be able to accept the 'gift’ either way—he knew it held some sort of sentimental value and all; but—Hanzo was still what he was; trained to follow movements and to move with speed and grace either way. For the moment, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Jesse’s, afraid that if he did, he’d somehow fall to pieces and embarrass himself further. 

“–Jesse–” But there was nothing else on his lips, and for the moment, nothing else in the room– or the world, for that matter. 

Warm eyes watched the man in front of him, skin igniting under the slide of fingers from side to his back even through the thick fabric of his favorite flannel button down. The alcohol surely wasn’t helping the electricity that coursed through him, a mild tingling on every surface Hanzo touched. The look in those eyes nearly drew him under water and he decide he better get moving or he’d get stuck like that for life. 

“Now you just tell me when you’ve had enough, alright? Or if I’m goin’ too fast.” 

When he was confident enough that the other was ready, he dared his first step, slow and relatively small, feeling out how Hanzo would react to it. Every step was slow, but in rhythm with his instructions allowing time for Hanzo to get accustomed to the motions. He didn’t want to give him a bite bigger than he could chew just starting out. 

He gently pulled on Hanzo in a direction, causing them to turn slightly in their movements, being sure to dodge any other guests on the dance floor. The last thing he wanted to do was lead Hanzo’s back right into an unexpected party. His movements were mostly fluid and controlled- no missteps so far, though he may have swayed a bit off course from time to time. 

It was surreal—an out of body experience, so much so that Hanzo couldn’t help but reflect. For a while, he’d felt a little like he was letting some stranger too close but—really he knew Jesse quite well, and for some time. Neither of them would let the other closer than they were, and that was probably what had him thinking of his friend and colleague at arms’ length. It was perfectly fine to give in and be more familiar, wasn’t it? 

“Doin’ alright, darlin’? From where I’m standin’, you’re doing a mighty fine job of keepin’ up. Color me impressed.” 

He smiled down at the archer, head cocking to the side a bit before his smile faded slightly. His hand moved from Hanzo’s waist up to his face, prosthetic fingers plucking a loose chunk of black hair from between his eyes and tucking it behind Hanzo’s ear. 

Without thinking, he leaned into the brief brush of Jesse’s hand as he pushed his hair behind his ear—and only then did he realize that he was starved for affection; how long had it been since he had allowed another human being to touch him? How long had he wandered alone, refusing to anchor himself anywhere? The realization of the obvious made him feel as though his rib cage was going to implode, and he pressed a little closer as they danced and swayed. 

“I’m fine–” A breath, lips pursed—a wry expression creeping onto his face. “You are a strange man. …But I suppose that is part of your charm.” 

McCree chuckled lightly. He’d been called damn near every name in the book and he was perhaps overly aware of how strange he truly was in comparison to those he associated with. Cowboys hadn’t existed for decades- at least in the traditional sense. But he still clung to the traditions of his family- though in that regard, he at least wasn’t different than Hanzo. 

“Could say the same for you, darlin’.” 

If there was something more there, it would take a lot more for Hanzo to admit to it and latch on. He couldn’t imagine anyone genuinely being interested in him; it was impossible to see his own worth after having been in this state of self torment for so very long. He hated himself, what he had done. His life only had value as a body on the battlefield, and whether or not he lived or died there mattered little as well. 

“Sorry-- it was blockin’ the view.” 

He felt his own ears grow hot at the realization of what he said, that same hand moving to rest again on Hanzo’s hip. Those metal fingers twitched nervously, tugging at loose bands of fabric idly as he attempted to explain himself. 

“I-I mean it was just distractin’ me ‘n’ all. Y’know.” 

_Damnit, Jesse, I thought I said not to get attached._

_Yeah, well, ya didn’t say nothin’ about fallin’ in love._

Why did Jesse look at him like that? What was the meaning of the look in his eyes? To a man whose first comfort was logic; geometry—things that made sense—the idea of such nebulous feelings was hard to grip. Though… the more carnal nature of such physicality was more sensible to him. 

Finally, he slowed and dared to lift his hand, passing it through McCree’s hair, brows raised. 

“Are you… blushing?” A rare, low rumble of a laugh left him. 

McCree felt Hanzo’s speed decrease, forcing him to slow down in order to not run him over with his heavy boots. Anyone who had ever been stepped on by a cowboy boot would attest to it not being the most fun thing in the world. His hands- however- remained on Hanzo, feather light but firm enough to keep him close. 

He caught the look in the other’s eyes and swallowed roughly. The heat on his skin only worsened at the question. He most certainly was- though he hoped the dim lighting and dark skin would have been enough to mask it. The hand in his hair made his knees weak and he had to stop himself from licking his own bottom lip. 

“Never took you for a smooth talker, Shimada. Ya caught me- red handed. Not every day a guy like me gets t’ dance with the prettiest face this side of the sun.” 

He took a broad step forward, forcing Hanzo backwards and swiftly moving a hand to his back as he spun and lowered the archer down, holding him up and giving his proudest smirk. 

“What’d’ya say we high tail it out of here and get somewhere with a few less eyes, hm?”


End file.
